


It Has To Be You

by crystalphobic



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Mirror Universe, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Terok Nor (Star Trek), and it comes in three different flavors, i take some liberties with canon, this is just a lot of yearning wrapped up in a thin blanket of plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29387784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalphobic/pseuds/crystalphobic
Summary: Julian and his Mirror Universe counterpart switch places due to a transporter accident, leaving Julian trapped on Terok Nor against his will. Can his strange new relationship with this universe's Garak save his life, or will it only cause him more trouble?
Relationships: Jadzia Dax/Kira Nerys, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Mirror Elim Garak, Mirror Julian Bashir/Mirror Elim Garak
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	1. To See That Man

**Author's Note:**

> OG Garak will be referred to as Elim throughout the fic, while Mirror Garak will be just Garak. Plain and simple.

Some Tarkalean tea, a few biscuits with a side of jam, and getting to look at Elim Garak sitting across from him- that was Julian’s ideal lunch, hit or miss a few details.   
Sometimes he’d have an Earl Grey with shortbread. Sometimes he wouldn’t eat anything at all, being too immersed in telling a story or having an argument with the cardassian. Sometimes he’d order something outlandish completely at random, to keep the tailor on his toes.

But whenever Julian tried to play that game he _always_ managed to mess up and turn it around by the end of their lunch, leaving Garak with the upper hand.  
  


He hadn’t even gotten that far today, but Garak already had the upper hand.

Mostly in that he was currently higher up than Julian- literally, considering he was standing on the upper level of Terok Nor, staring down at the doctor, who was kneeling on the floor, his arm firmly occupying the opened chest cavity of a Bajoran security officer.  
  


Now, how the hell _did_ he end up here?

* * *

  
  


Julian woke up early that day, and in truth it started out like any other. The computer announced the time, loud enough to startle anyone, and Julian quickly shut if off along with lifting his sleeping mask. His pajama was peeled off and laid down on the bed, folded neatly along with his blanket.

A small stack of corrupted medical files were waiting for correction in the infirmary, and he wanted to take care of them before noon- being late for lunch, no matter how fashionably, wouldn’t do. He’d been promised some first rate Cardassian literature the last time, and Julian could not pass up the opportunity to spend an entire lunchtime reading it aloud with his friend. He would not pass up on a _second_ of it.   
  


The faulty files were taken care of more swiftly than he thought, which came in handy since it meant he could personally attend to at least one patient before heading out for a break.   
There was a torn ligament and minor burns, but it seemed like it was one of those rare days without an unreasonably extreme medical emergency.   
  


“It just has to stay that way,” the doctor mused aloud, putting his feet up on the console.   
“If it could just stay that way for once.”

“If what could?”

His feet left the console in much the same way that his body left his chair- very abrupt and painfully.  
  


“Jadzia!”

“You want _me_ to stay that way for once? What way would that be?”

“No- no! I was actually talking about the suspicious lack of accidents today.”

“Julian, I hate to break it to you, but you _just_ had a work related accident.”  
  


The Trill extended a hand from behind her back, pulling Julian up to his feet with a smile.

“That wasn’t an accident, you just surprised me.” The infirmary floor was immaculate, of course, but he still wiped at his shoulders and knees to avoid looking at Jadzia. “If it’s stealthiness you train for on your trips to the holosuite you’ve mastered the skill.”

The science officer still smiled, only this time Julian could tell it wasn’t because he’d embarrased himself.

“No, actually, Nerys and I usually-” “Stop!”

“What?” she feigned innocence, he’d seen her do it before.

“You were going to tell me about your _escapades_ in the holosuite, not your training.”  
  


He’d expected any normal person’s smile to drop right about now, perhaps in shame, but Jadzia was still beaming. Because of course she was.

“Well you’re right, and why shouldn’t I? Remember that time we had breakfast and you explained to me the plot of your… what was it, detective novel?”

Julian let himself fall back into his revolving chair, hands covering his face.

“Different story! I don’t need to know what you and the major do in Camelot.”

“More like-” 

“No.” 

Jadzia leaned down, and Julian silently debated covering his ears instead of his eyes. “More like what I do _to_ the major in Camelot.”

“I am going to be late for lunch!” He jumped out of his chair and decided that whatever broken limb or electrocuted engineer came in next could relay their complaints about his abscence to Dax instead of him.  
  


“Just trying to give you inspiration for your date with Garak!”  
“Not a date! Lunch! _Lunch_ with Garak!”

  
  


He swore on the wormhole aliens, that Trill would not get under his skin, or into his private affairs, no matter how much she tried- or how good she was at it.  
She was good at it, though, to the detriment of Julian’s peace of mind, which he was desperate to regain before meeting up with the Cardassian.

While he tried to focus on rehearsing his order for the replimat in his mind, Julian’s thoughts began to wander- and to his own surprise they didn’t immediately wander to the thought of seeing Garak. No, for he was thinking about seeing the _books_ ...that Garak would give him, as he promised. Physical copies, no PADDs, the _real deal._

Before he could even begin to think about the many improbably, but _possible_ ways Garak could have acquired these copies while in exile several screams cut through his focus, echoing up from the lower level of the promenade.  
  


And just when he’d thought he could get away from the daily medical emergency...Seemed more like he walked right into it.

There was no time to hesitate, though, since screaming on Deep Space 9 _usually_ meant something rather gruesome had happened. Julian took off running, down the closest set of stairs, and surveyed the area. A crowd had formed only a few yards away- and where there was a crowd there was a spectacle.  
  


Despite his lightweight appearance, the doctor managed to push through several people into the middle of the circle, where a security officer lay bleeding on the floor.

His chest was littered with stab wounds, too many to count for the average person, but Julian quickly assessed that there were about 28. Most of them were non-fatal, but several of them were… well, he couldn’t help this man like this anyway.

He pressed his combadge energetically, hoping that O’Brien had fixed that little issue with the transporter he talked about yesterday.  
  


“There’s been a medical emergency! I have a heavily wounded officer and I need him in the infirmary _at once._ ”

The familiar light of the transporter surrounded him and he made a mental note to thank Miles for being possibly the best engineer in the quadrant.

  
  


The fact that something was _wrong_ wasn’t immediately obvious to him, as Julian remained focused on his patient’s condition after the transport.

“Everybody _quiet!_ I need some anesthizine, stat!” He held out his hand, but no hypospray was pressed into it. His head whipped around as he yelled for a nurse, but realisation soon set in.  
  


Certain things were amiss.

The loud noises of a crowd, which should not have been there if they’d gone straight to the infirmary like he requested.

The dark atmosphere, combined with a sense of danger he wouldn’t feel if he was _home_.

Lastly, and most horrifyingly, the muffled, but familiar rumble of the ore processing facility. 

“ _Oh no.”  
  
_

Julian, and his patient, were still on the bottom floor of the promande- or whatever they call it in this place- and on the upper level stood Garak. _Gul_ Garak.  
And with him, about a dozen phaser rifles aimed at Julian. Most notably, one held by _Odo._

None of the armed guards moved, and despite their quite _rocky_ history, this universe’s Odo had not yet given the order to execute him on the spot.  
  


“Great! Looks like you survived the phaser blast from last time, but this man will _not_ survive if you do not let me operate on him _right now!”_

Julian glared at the shapeshifter, hoping to elicit any kind of response- but he got nothing. Odo just looked over at Garak. Could this be his chance?

“Garak! Garak, listen to me-” Some of the guards flinched, probably unused to hearing their second highest ranking officer being addressed like this. But Julian didn’t have the time nor the patience to be respectful.

“If I don’t perform emergency surgery he _will die_.”  
  


He was wildly aware that these were _not_ the eyes of Elim Garak, friend and tailor, he was looking into, but he held the Gul’s steel gaze with bated breath until he raised his hand and told the guards to hold their fire.  
  
A sigh of relief escaped Julian, seeing as there were no more guns aimed at him, but he was far from out-of-danger and, more importantly, he had a security officer bleeding out on the floor.   
And he was not at all confident that either of them would survive this.

He saw Garak turning to one of the guards, and not half a minute later a first aid kit was tossed from above, landing next to Julian.

“A first aid kit. A man is dying and he gives me a _first aid kit_?” Despite complaining under his breath, Julian scavenged the kit for any tools he could use to save the Bajoran.  
He wound up finding _just_ enough to constitute a child’s toy surgery kit, but judging by Garak’s look this was all he was going to get.  
  
" Oh, you find this _amusing_ , don’t you? Well, I’ll show you. I’ll show you _almost_ top of his class, Julian Bashir.”  
  


With several more encouragements spoken to himself, Julian performed what he knew was quite possibly the worst surgery he’d ever done. Including the ones performed on Kukalaka.

The procedure took no more than 20 minutes, during which he’d occasionally take the time to glare at Garak and Odo. Both seemed to enjoy the sight of Julian elbows deep in blood, but the latter was most certainly wishing it was Julian’s own blood instead.

There was no way _anyone_ could have completely healed an injury of this magnitude with the tools he was given, but to his credit he made sure the man was going to _live_ \- provided he be brought to whatever they called an infirmary here.

  
Odo looked positively delighted, and Julian could only guess it was because he was about to kill or arrest him. Whichever it was, he’d done his duty as a doctor, and that was what really mattered. 

“A nice display, truly. Now arrest this _Terran_. Throw him into ore processing where he belongs.” He could not have sounded more disgusted if he’d just seen Quark successfully commit fraud- though Julian wasn’t even sure Quark was still alive in this universe.  
  


“Belay that order.”  
  


Garak had started walking down the stairs, standing now just on the edge of the puddle of blood around Julian.

“I will discuss this… incident… with the Intendant.” Garak was smiling, and somehow, this neither reassured nor terrified him- it simply made Julian very confused.

“Hold up- I do _not_ want-”

“What you _want_ is of no consequence.”

Some blood splattered up to Julian’s face as Garak took a quick and heavy step forward, shutting him up with just a look.  
  


Considering some of the options on the table were working in the mines, getting tortured, and god knows what else _worse_ they may have in store for him- talking to the Intendant might get him somewhere. Perhaps even back home.  
  
  
  


The Intendant’s office looked nice when compared to the rest of the station, but for all intents and purposes, it was still nothing more than an interrogation chamber at the moment. He might even have felt intimidated, if it wasn’t for one thing- and loathe as he was to say it, that thing was Garak.

Sure, he’d handcuffed him none too gently and shoved him into this uncomfortable chair, but something about Garak’s hands resting on his shoulders distracted Julian from the dire situation.  
When had he… oh, right. This is what Garak- no, _Elim_ , had done when they first met. 

Ambushed him during teatime, confused the hell out of him, and left Julian with his mind racing and dissecting every word spoken between them, was what he did, actually.   
  
A very different first meeting than he and _this_ Garak had, but truth be told their hands felt identical.  
  


Julian realised he should probably be paying attention to what _Intendant_ Kira was saying to him. It appeared that the slightly more menacing version of the major was doing a solid job of sizing him up.  
  


“So, you say you just found yourself on the station with a wounded Bajoran at your feet?” She leaned on her desk, with no discernable emotion in her voice.   
“And you have no idea why the transporter brought you here instead of your surgery room?”  
  


Julian could guess she wasn’t _happy_ after what happened last time, but if she was truly angry she did a great job at hiding it.

“Yes, ma’am.” He lowered his head and began twirling his thumbs in a display of defiance, but a squeeze of his shoulder told him to knock it off.

“At first I thought it was you people trying to get one of us to help you out, but since you’re asking _me_ how I got it here that’s not the case, is it?”  
  


“It isn’t,” she replied bitterly, “And really, _doctor_ , we both know by now that interference on _either_ side of the universes can have catastrophic consequences for its inhabitants. _We_ have learned our lesson, so why is it that you are here?”  
  


He wasn’t sure how to feel about Garak’s hands leaving his shoulders after he shrugged. With his people being the way they were the smallest gesture could mean anything- was he leaving his side in the literal or figurative sense?  
  


“Listen, all I wanted from my day was a nice early lunch, but instead of that I got to perform a botched surgery and _you_ staring me down like I came here to ruin your day specifically.”

This managed to spur the Intendant into action, as she crossed the room to grab Julian by the collar.

“Well you _did_ ruin my day. Not that you care, but news of your mysterious appearance is going to travel fast, no matter how many of my own officers I silence.”

Julian let out a shaky laugh, “So what?”

“If the Alliance finds out how you got here, what do you think is going to happen?” She dragged him up, closer to her face, which was starting to show signs of ire.  
“They will create technology that’s going to allow free travel between the universes, throwing both of them into _chaos_.”  
  


She released his collar and he dropped back down into his seat with a soft ‘oof’. Julian’s shoulders sagged, and he tried to look repentant. This came a little too late, however.  
  


“Maybe I should kill you right now. No way to trace whatever transporter accident got you here if you’ve been reduced to ash and thrown out the airlock.”

In an instant the Intendant’s hand was on the holster of her phaser.

He knew she was averse to violence, in some way or another, but panic still rose in him. He could only stare as the Intendant drew her weapon, until his head whipped around on its own accord and he gave Garak a wide eyed, pleading look.  
Julian was no master of reading emotions, and Garak- no matter the universe- _was_ a master of concealing them. 

He had no reason to help him. That much was clear. He wasn’t Elim, he was not the man Julian _knew_ \- but he’d kept him alive until now.

That must mean something. It had to. Everything _always_ means something to a Cardassian.

“If I may be so bold-” Garak spoke up and Julian held his breath- “I suggest we do not kill the prisoner.”

“Tell me _why_ you suggest that?”

“Well, it will be less blood on your hands, for one.”

Kira’s expression turned unsure, which was a great relief to Julian, but the phaser remained raised at him and his shoulders remained tensed.

“Go on.”

“I believe, Intendant, that he may be of use to us.”  
  


Simply _encouraging_ her not to use violence seemed enough to convince her as it was, but with the way she turned her head to him Julian could guess Garak had her _intrigued_ now.  
  


“This Terran, lowly as he is in our eyes, has received a proper medical education.”

The Intendant lowered her weapon and placed it on her desk- _not_ returning it to it’s holster. The matter of Julian’s death was still undecided.

“He has advanced knowledge and training- something I, as a witness of his remarkable operating skills, can attest to.”  
  


Julian wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered by this. He witnessed him perform a procedure that felt closer to a game of Operation than a real surgery, but if this was the angle Garak was going for, all the better for him.  
  


“I propose to you that we keep him around as the station’s doctor. His superior skill will be of more use to us than anyone in _his_ universe, don’t you think?”

 _Keep him as the station’s doctor?  
_ His jaw went slack at this. What a preposterous idea- the only thing more unbelievable to Julian was the fact that Garak had essentially just _spoken up for him.  
  
_

“They have so many doctors, and there _is_ a shortage of them here.”   
He half expected her to say ‘No’, but Kira tapped her chin, and with a sudden shift in her expression it seemed like the phaser, and his imminent execution, were forgotten.

“That is just the thing to turn a ruined day into a perfect one,” she said with a wicked smile and a clap of her hands.   
“But! He is your responsibility, Garak. You vouch for him, you keep him in line.”

“Oh, I’m sure our new friend will learn how to behave himself in no time.”  
  


There seemed to be some kind of sick and warped understanding between the two commanding officers- first he was an enemy, then a prisoner, and now he’d jumped all the way to ‘New Friend’.

Fortunately, this seemed to be the end of his talk with the Intendant. Unfortunately, it had brought him nowhere close to getting home, in fact, it had done the opposite. A detail finely emphasized by a teleporter signal jamming device being attached to his leg.

The device looked and acted like an advanced ankle bracelet, but to Julian it was no different than a heavy ball and chain. A chain he’d have to drag around for the foreseeable future, by the looks of his surroundings.  
  


He’d first been led into a small room, no bigger than the combined space of a sonic shower and a bed- which was all there was in there, really. 

After pushing him into the shower to get rid of the blood and grime, the guards led him back into the neighboring quarters they came through, and, to his surprise, uncuffed his hands.  
Julian looked at them leaving as he rubbed his sore wrists, mildly surprised that they’d leave him alone with… who was he alone with anyway?  
Bottles of kanar lined the shelves on the wall, along with some rather pathetic excuses for art. Definitely a Cardassian.  
And on this station there was only one of those who would let a _lowly Terran_ live in the room right next to him.  
  


“Do sit down, doctor.”

Garak’s voice was so much like… well, _his,_ it made Julian not want to turn around and be reminded that it _wasn’t_ him.

He had little choice in the matter, though, as the only thing securing the stay of his head on his shoulders was this man.  
With a sigh Julian sat down on the chair in front of Garak’s desk.

“Would you care for a cup of tea? I’m afraid our replicators won’t have the same selection as your Federation taste longs for, but I could select something nonoffensive to your-" “Cut the crap.”

Julian could _work_ with this man, if he didn’t test his patience too much, but he was not interested in _indulging_ him.  
  
“I want no part in your little games.”  
  


“My my, Terrans really are feisty across all universes,” Garak chuckled. “Don’t you think you should be a bit more cooperative? After all I-”

“Yes, you saved my life, congratulations. I owe you one.” Julian got up from his seat and put both hands on the table in front of them.   
“But if I’m going to work for you, which I’ll do _reluctantly_ , you’re going to have to clue me in on what is going on in this place.”

The Gul considered this for a second, never losing the faint smile that had been tugging at the corner of his lips during their conversation and the interrogation before that.

“Well, what would you like to know? I’ll do my very best to answer all questions you have about your new home.”   
The phrasing made Julian want to gag.  
“Ah- classified information will stay classified, though.”

“Fine. What can you tell me about the rebels?”

Garak broke out into a short fit of laughter. “Jumping right into it, I see.” 

“Well? What _can_ you tell me about them?”

“They’re organising into a proper group- but ah, they have no more operatives left on the station, if that was one of your motives to ask about them.”

“You can’t fault me for starting in the obvious place. I don’t intend to stay here any longer than necessary.”   
  


He sank back down into his seat and crossed his legs. But just as he started to appreciate how comfortable the chair was compared to everything else in the past hours, Garak stood up and the atmosphere in the room changed.  
  


“Oh, I’m afraid you’ll stay here much longer than that.”

“And how do you expect me to spend my time, however long, as your personal prisoner, _Garak_?” 

He was talking tough, but straightened his back to appear less nervous than he felt- which was still a dead giveaway.

“You will attend to my every need, work your shift in the sickbay, and during whatever time you have left in between you may freely go wherever you please- with the exception of the runabouts, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed sarcastically.

“And I could call on you whenever, of course. So you might not want to wander far.”

“ _Of course._ ”  
  
  
Garak turned around to face the vast expanse of space rather than Julian, which he was grateful for.

“You may go next door. Those are your quarters. You’ve been provided with clothes and some food.”

“And if you call for me?”  
  
"You will come.”

Seeing as Garak was not engaging with him anymore and had told him to go Julian assumed there’d be no further questions for today. 

And if his schedule was entirely up to the whims of a twisted version of the spy-turned-tailor that he knew, he’d get as much rest as possible while the option was available.  
  


He attempted to remove the device on his leg as soon as the door closed behind him, but it was no use. Unless he could get his hands on a phaser or old fashioned bolt cutters it wasn’t coming off and he wasn’t going to get home.  
  


After sinking down on the bed, Julian contemplated this day, that had gone so horribly wrong.

All he wanted was to have lunch with Elim Garak, plain and simple. Some Tarkalean tea, a few biscuits with a side of jam. Or Earl Grey with shortbread. Or nothing at all.  
Whatever he did or didn’t get for lunch didn’t matter.  
The food and drink didn’t _matter_ , as long as he got to see that man sitting across from him.  
  


And right now he wanted to see Elim more than anything else in either universe.


	2. Not Half Bad At All

It hadn’t been that long since his arrival, but Julian had fallen, albeit reluctantly, into a daily routine of sorts; he’d wake to an alarm at an unreasonable time, put on the atrocity that was his uniform, and go to work.   
  


The clothes he’d been given oh-so graciously by the Gul were tight and uncomfortable. In part, he guessed, because Garak wanted something to ogle. He soon figured out that they were also to prevent him from concealing weapons or tools he might use to escape his situation. 

Garak saw the fork coming from a mile away- and he’d been annoyingly amused by the idea that Julian thought he could stab him with something he’d swiped from Garak’s own breakfast tray. _That_ he _brought him, no less.  
_ Needless to say he hated the new wardrobe with every fiber of his being.  
  


Now the _crux_ , however, was the part about going to work.  
  


Garak’s first demand was that Julian would serve him food three times a day.

Julian had scoffed and asked if he wanted him to pour his kanar as well. 

Garak said ‘Naturally, doctor. What an excellent idea.’ 

Julian decided to cut down on the sarcasm.  
  


He was happy enough to do the job, though, since one out of three times there’d be food for him as well- and it didn’t take Vulcan logic to figure out that those were the _only_ times there’d be food for him.

On top of being turned into a butler, Julian was to work one shift a day in the infirmary.  
  


‘A shift in the infirmary’ meant sitting uselessly in a chair for a few hours and waiting for a particularly unlucky- or particularly stupid- officer to walk in with a minor injury.   
There never seemed to be more than a mild cut or a pulled muscle, which surprised Julian when he first showed up for work after the fork-incident. 

The station felt like a death trap from top to bottom, and he already knew from experience that working on it was no walk in the park.

The Intendant let him stay here because they ‘needed doctors’, but all the patients he saw were healthy enough to be sent on their way with a bandaid and some kind words- not that they appreciated them, coming from him.

He puzzled over this until he figured out that the reason he didn’t get to see any major injuries was because the Cardassians and Bajorans weren’t the ones who _got_ heavily injured.  
They were the ones supervising and _causing_ injuries of the human workers.

Once he’d realised this, there was another addition to Julian’s workload; one that he decided on by himself.

On day three Julian sat down across from Garak after bringing him breakfast. He’d been instructed to stand while the Gul ate, but the guards at the door said nothing when he neglected those instructions. Presumably because Garak hadn’t given them permission to speak.  
  


“Is there any way I could help in the ore processing center?”

His attempt to stab his way out of this universe with a fork hadn’t done the trick, but Garak looked genuinely surprised at hearing Julian say this.

He took some time to think, perhaps questioning if he’d misheard him.  
  


“To work there?” He set aside his utensils and plate, shifting his focus entirely on Julian. 

“No.” Julian’s voice was firm. Nothing in the wide world could get him to work in ore processing again. He’d had his fill.  
“To treat the injuries of the people who do.”  
  


Garak took another minute of deliberation before breaking out into a smile.

“I did say you could go wherever you please. And if it pleases you to waste your time on those poor unfortunate souls, then do as you wish.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“I also said you were to attend to me when I call, and I don’t appreciate being kept waiting.”

Julian mirrored Garak’s smile- both were fake, of course.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

It was surprisingly easy to convince Garak to give him access to the facility, which in turn made it _delightfully_ easy to convince Supervisor Odo.

The shapeshifter made no secret of his distate for him, what with the attempted homicide, but Julian was effectively untouchable due to Garak’s influence.   
He may have _wanted_ to see him toil in ore processing for all eternity, but in the end there was nothing he could do. So he resentfully watched Julian drag collapsed workers aside to give them first aid for a few hours each day.  
  


The supervisor’s chagrin eventually turned into some form of twisted thriumph, however, when he and Julian himself realised something.  
There was no way, physically, for Julian to help all of these people.

The temperature was unendurable, for one. Heat and loud noise made Julian’s work all the more difficult, and on top of that was the fact that there were just _so many injuries_.  
  


The Intendant was by no means a genuinely merciful woman, that much he knew, but he hadn’t expected Kira to let her workforce teeter on the verge of death at all times.  
  


He couldn’t throw in the towel so soon, though. The alternative to only being able to treat _some_ people was not to give up, but to treat as many people _as possible._

And that’s exactly what Julian was going to do.

According to the notches in the wall it was day seven of his stay in the other universe.   
He’d been holding out hope that he was just a visitor, but judging by Garak’s disturbing and _unwavering_ interest in him, he was to be a permanent feature of Terok Nor.

An entire _week_ had passed, and there was no rescue in sight. 

Julian was too busy to let the implications of that sink in, though. Each day felt at once like an enternity and no time at all- mostly thanks to the brutal schedule he kept himself to. 

He knew by now that he had overestimated his own endurance when he took up the task of treating the human workers; however, just to stick it to Garak and the Supervisor, he kept coming every day.   
  
Once he’d finished his shift in the infirmary Julian stayed in ore processing until it was time to serve the Gul his dinner. On several occasions he even went back afterwards. 

Several people would have died by now if it weren’t for him, so he took the physical fatigue, which increased with each day, in stride.

While not as physically taxing, working as an Alliance doctor and Garak’s personal housemaid still contributed to the overwhelming exhaustion building in him.   
  
Something about the inherent absurdity of his situation and the helplessness he was experiencing was giving Julian a permanent headache to boot.  
  


Still, after some hours of poor and insufficient sleep, the morning alarm started to blare in his ears and he went about his day. Not that he could have refused.  
  


Over the course of the week he’d gathered a very clear idea of the differences and similarities between the Deep Space Nine he knew and the Terok Nor he was stuck on. 

As it turned out _Quark’s_ was the only constant on both- other than Ops.  
  


At least they were structurally the same, which made it easier for Julian to recall where he needed to go. Fetching Garak’s meals meant walking across the station three times a day- and sure, it was excellent for his cardiovascular system, but he felt a stab of pain with each step.

He was carrying a tray with some kind of traditional Cardassian breakfast when a loud scream cut through the low, rumbling noises of the station.

A feeling of deja-vu set in as Julian rushed down a flight of stairs to the lower level. Perhaps if it was another medical emergency he could ask for a transport and escape.

Julian held on to that hope for all of 10 steps, since he realised there’d be no transport for him as soon as he spotted the injured person next to one of the shop windows. It was a human worker with a horrifically dislocated shoulder- an agonising injury, no doubt, but nobody on this station would care. He was _Terran_.

Julian did care, though. Garak’s breakfast be damned, he was helping this man.

“What happened here?” He attempted to control his voice and _not_ yell at the Cardassian, who was still holding the injured man by the collar, but failed.  
He deserved a good scream, though, he thought to himself. He’d been holding it in.

“He was reaching for my weapon!”

The human was holding a wet piece of cloth, that honestly looked a little _better_ than the rags he wore, and Julian saw a mop in a bucket just a few feet away.

“He was _cleaning the counter,_ you imbecile!”

“I just wanted to avoid an incident!”

“ _So you dislocated his shoulder?!_ ”  
  


The Cardassian didn’t show one sign of remorse; he hadn’t done anything wrong, in his mind. 

Even though Julian’s blood was boiling from the injustice, he soon composed himself when his eyes fell on the breakfast tray he’d dropped onto the counter.

He couldn’t risk incurring Garak’s _wrath_ , so he had to wrap this up- maybe he’d get away with only incurring his mild annoyance if he acted quickly.  
  


The shoulder was relocated in a matter of seconds. Instructing the man to try not to strain those muscles for a while took significantly longer, since instead of listening, he mostly just insisted he needed to go back to work.

Julian understood the sentiment all too well and let him go. This way, hopefully, they’d both avoid punishment.  
  


He picked the tray back up and hurried to Garak’s office. Once there he notes that there were no officers standing guard, which he _would have thought_ to be unusual- that was, if Julian didn’t already have a pretty good idea of why Garak wouldn’t want guards around.

No matter what awaited him inside, one thing was clear: his duty as a medical officer came before his duty to the Gul. No matter how much the Cardassian wanted to convince him of the opposite.

And judging by Garak’s look when he entered with the tray shaking in his hands, he wanted very much to convince him of the opposite.

“You are two minutes late, doctor.”

The scene was reminiscent of something Julian had seen in his holonovels. The big bad guy sitting with his elbows on the desk, chin leaning on his hands, chewing out his subordinates.  
  
If only this bad guy didn’t have Elim’s face… he might even have felt contempt for him. As it was, however, Julian couldn’t help but see his friend in him. So he just swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped forward to rid himself of the breakfast tray.

Garak inspected the food and his nose wrinkled in something that Julian would describe as very well-acted disgust.

“There’s dust on this fruit.”  
  
He made it sound as if it was Julian’s fault alone that they lived on a station with a higher density of particulate matter than a large 21st century city.

“Anything you want to say in your defense?”

Julian could have choked the man just for the way he was using Elim’s voice to say these things, but despite the headache this interaction was causing him, he kept calm.

Of course he wanted to cuss the Gul out, just like he wanted to with that Cardassian ealier, but no good would come of it. _Amoral bastards, the lot of them.  
  
_

“Since you expect me to pour your drinks already, I suppose you’re going to want me to peel that as well.”

“After seeing what you tried a few days ago, I would not trust you with a knife- or any kind of utensil.” Garak smiled, and Julian could say with some certainty that this was the worst one yet. He looked downright predatory.  
“Did I not tell you that I don’t like being kept waiting? Did you _not_ say that you would remember it?”

“Well, I’m not sure if those were the exact words, but-” In a blur of motion too fast for his tired eyes to pick up, Garak vacated his seat and had Julian grabbed and lifted by the collar.

“I have about _had it_ with your quips, doctor. I promised the Intendant that you would behave yourself, and so far people have tolerated your presence.”

The tips of Julian’s feet struggled to touch the ground, which he was desperate to return to. It didn’t look like Garak was intending to hurt him, but he was doing a damn good job of intimidating him.

“ _So what?_ If they tolerate me, what do I need to _change?_ ”

“Your _attitude_ towards me!” The Cardassian marched them both forward, until Julian’s back hit the wall. “So far I’ve done nothing but support you, and all I ask in return is that you do as I say.”  
  


Garak let him down and removed his hands from him altogether, but he did not step away; forcing Julian to look in his eyes for a lack of other options.

Not that he was fond of it to begin with, but maintaining eye contact with _Garak_ was somehow even worse than usual. It was the same pale blue, the same ridges, the same _face_ , down to the last detail- but it wasn’t _him_ , and it was high time Julian remembered that.

“I’m- I will-” He gulped, turning his head to look at anything that wasn’t those eyes. “ _I will._ Do as you say.”  
  


Garak didn’t seem entirely _happy_ with that, but satisfied enough to take a step back. 

Julian, effectively dismissed, took a long, deep breath before walking towards the door. He stopped in front of it and turned around, though.

“I’ll be late for my shift-”

There was no reaction from Garak other than a raised brow-ridge.

“But I won’t be late for your lunch.”

Instead of whatever meaning the previous one had, the Gul’s current expression seemed to say ‘Finally, you’re catching on.’

Julian was quite glad for his shift to start, after all it let him escape Garak this time, but there were no blessings on this station, only curses. 

For most of the week, the shift had just been quiet-time. He’d sit and think and feel guilty about not being in the ore processing center, but that was all.  
Now, every few minutes an officer came in with some sort of scrape or bruise. 

Since he was a Terran doctor- no doubt something none of them had ever seen or thought possible- a lot of them just came to gawk or make jokes at his expense.  
  


Whatever they were saying, Julian didn’t listen. _Couldn’t_ listen, actually, because he was very, very exhausted.

He could endure 20 hours of work for an extended amount of time- _when he was in the Academy_. But now?

An entire week of doing chores for Garak, messing around in this infirmary and treating the human workers had done a number on him. Several times during the shift he almost fell asleep standing, and once the small chair Julian was allowed to sit on actually evaded him and he toppled to the floor.

By the time he’d picked up and delivered Garak’s lunch Julian felt about ready to just lie down and sleep for a day or two. Once again there were no guards around, but this time Garak had dismissed them while Julian was present.  
He hadn’t been late, kept any crude comments to himself when he’d served the food, and simply stood in silence, leaned against the wall of the office. 

In Garak’s eyes, he must have been behaving himself perfectly- or so he thought.

Too bad for Julian, Garak still wasn’t over their conversation from earlier.  
  


“You know, doctor, I’ve thought about it.”   
  
He had finished his meal, but ordered Julian to stay before he could even _think_ about trying to decide whether or not to go to ore processing today.

“And I was right! You _are_ being difficult.”  
  


If Julian had the energy, he might have asked him to clarify, but he didn’t need to.  
  


“But, and this is the fortunate thing for you, I’ve come to the conclusion that you are not being difficult on purpose.”

“Lucky me.”

“Yes!” The Gul exclaimed, looking far too pleased- whether it was with Julian or himself, he couldn’t tell. “You’re very lucky, doctor, because that means all we have to do is get rid of your pesky social conditioning.”  
  


 _’And how will you do that?’_ He couldn’t say aloud. It felt as though there was something heavy on his tongue, which kept his mouth shut.

“Naturally, this begs the question of _how_. And I think the first step should be a small one. A simple one.”  
  


Garak looked like he was about to elaborate further, but found his glass empty when he picked it up. 

As soon as he registered it, something in Julian’s head told him to refill the glass. Were those his thoughts now? Had he been broken so much that he considered pouring Garak’s kanar an important part of his routine? No, it turned out, it was Garak telling him to do it. Out loud.

The Cardassian must have asked more than once while Julian was spacing out, as he suddenly found him standing face to face with him- looking both annoyed and… concerned? 

Julian would later blame his dazed state for the fact that his need for personal space didn’t make itself known immediately when the Cardassian invaded it once again- but maybe it was that, for a few seconds, he just thought it was Elim.

Those seconds ran out, however, and he half-stepped half-fell to the side, getting a little distance between him and Garak.  
  


“Yes, the kanar, right away.”  
  


He took one of the orange bottles on the side of Garak’s desk and began to pour.  
  


With the fatigue from lack of sleep and frustration at his overall situation piling up, he hadn’t been surprised when he’d developed a bit of a headache throughout the week. For some time now, it had numbed down to a dull throb in his temples, and he didn’t pay it any mind.  
  
By the time the bottle slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground, Julian began to wish that he _had_ paid some attention to it, as what used to be a little migraine now came crashing down on him as a splitting headache.

He staggered, trying to get a hold of the table, a chair, _anything_ , until his vision first went blurry, then black. 

Julian only hoped he wouldn’t fall into the glass shards- that’s the last thing he wanted on top of all of this.  
  
  


* * *

The doctor didn’t fall into shards, but into Garak. 

There was something off about him, that much was clear from the way he’d shambled over to the desk, but Garak hadn’t thought he would just up and _faint_ like that.

If he’d known it was going to happen he would have let him fall to the ground.  
  


Be that as it may, he still caught him, and though he was no doctor himself, he knew the human wasn’t faking it. Julian was completely limp in his arms- and running a fever.

After swiftly hauling him to the bed, Garak called for a medic.  
Humans weren’t supposed to be that hot to the touch and neither were they supposed to just collapse without just cause.

The medical officer took his time, making Garak pace the room.

What could have tired the human out this much? The work he was doing was supposed to be easy. Garak made sure of that. 

Yes, he’d allowed him to work in the ore processing center, but surely Julian would have put his own well being over that of others if it got this severe?  
  
Unless Garak had underestimated the human capacity for reckless good-doing… 

When the Bajoran medic arrived- far too late for his taste, but not late enough to warrant execution- he swiftly diagnosed Julian with _Exhaustion from Overworking._

Meaning, in short, that there was nothing the officer, or Garak, could do other than let him rest. And see to it that he wouldn’t do it again.  
  


“That is, if you want him to live.” The doctor said with obvious humor.

Right. Who would want a Terran to live?  
  


“Assuming I _need_ him to live, for a reason, what should I do?”

Garak met the medic’s confused laugh with a look that showed his earnestness- and that his cooperation was not just requested but mandatory.

Once the Bajoran had given him the advice to lighten the human’s workload and a promise to return with medicine, Garak all but threw him out of his quarters. He needed time to think about what to do, alone.

Not that he was really alone, with Julian occupying his bed- why had he _put him there?_

It didn’t matter. He could move him once he was not passed out anymore.  
  


Garak looked at the human again, up close, just to make sure he wasn’t being deceived. He still looked somewhat disheveled, but Julian was, indeed, fast asleep.  
  


Up close, Garak also realised, he didn’t look half bad. In that light, sleeping. With his mouth _not_ moving and his face not frowning.  
He didn’t look half bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayy we get Mirror Garak's pov for the first time. wonder what his deal is.

**Author's Note:**

> god help me i did not open a can of worms with this fic i opened a *barrel* of worms and there is a lot more to come


End file.
